


in paper armor

by sweetchems



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Agoraphobia, Also this is incredibly slow burn so, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Artist Gerard Way, Childhood Trauma, Crying, Depression, Explicit Language, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Frank Iero Is A Sweetheart, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, dont say i didnt warn you, so much crying, undiagnosed mental illnesses, you'll probably cry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2020-09-30 11:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20446469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetchems/pseuds/sweetchems
Summary: Gerard Way doesn't know what the hell to do. His mind is a wreck that he can't handle half the time, with a bunch of locked away memories causing said wreckage.He needs help, but you couldn't pay him to see a shrink.So he gets the other kind of help. The kind that just... directly helps.Frank Iero is a free working caretaker who feels a bit like he's an all ages nanny. Doesn't mind the fact. It's good work, though he does tend to see his client-slash-patients shift into other care at their family's hands. Or get help. It makes him feel impressively job-well-done to see someone he cared for improve.His one surprise of a patient though is a certain Gerard Way, an agoraphobic artist with a mind that blocks out his past sufferings in any way it can hope to.





	1. maybe that's just how i am

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: this fic contains heavy mental illness themes (depression, anxiety, other undiagnosed nebulous things, and not great coping skills), implied child abuse and CSA, and quite possibly heavy innacuracies to how... anything works.
> 
> I'll say it. I'm miles, and I have no goddamn clue what I'm writing, and similar to the psych!verse, this is probably GREATLY inaccurate. I will try to be respectful and tactful in my handling of things regardless though, because I really, really don't like coming across as tasteless in my writing.
> 
> Says the boy who wrote a serial killer au- 
> 
> Regardless, I'm going to keep this fic pleasant if tragic, and this fic will also be a zero-smut-fic. I hope you all enjoy! If you don't, though, I can't stop that.
> 
> Fic title from How It's Going To Be by Gerard Way.

Gerard knows he needs help. He's always _fucking_ known that, known he's a disaster of a human being.

Usually he can block it out, though. He can lock out the bad things and try his very damndest to silence his struggles. But oh no, no, _no_. Not anymore.

It started a week ago, just about. He was just handling things, as he does, handling his life as well as he can. And then something, he can hardly remember what, some memory surfacing while he was just going about his day and thinking too hard, he supposes, it's all a bit foggy, set him off, made his brain rattle and reel and panic until he was crying like a little kid, curled up against the foot of his bed, sobbing with his thumb in his mouth, the latter a habit he hadn't had since he was maybe five years old.

And the incidents kept coming. Whenever Gerard's found himself overwhelmed over the last week, or set off by some connected-to-a-childhood-memory thing (receiving innocent old photos his mom scanned in and texted him sets him off, makes him think of being around six before his mental age seems to plummet to forget it), he finds himself helpless and small and scared, like a parentless little child, whimpering around his thumb as he rubs hopelessly at large, tearful eyes with his other hand.

After over five unforseen triggers in a week, Gerard does some research, and tries to figure out what's wrong with him. And that's where he is now. On a psych page online telling him of how children and adults can regress to an earlier state of development to cope with struggle or stress or trauma. With the whole reacting to things or thoughts from a bad, horrid time in his life by de-aging past them to remove himself from the situation of thinking about them trait being present in him now, that hits the nail on the head. What he doesn't understand for fucking _shit_ however, is how that translates to him going four-year-old under stress as well. He tries to think if this has been a long running thing. Panic attacks and "temper tantrums" from his teens onward in response to stress, maybe it's a part of the same thing. His brain not knowing what to do. Not knowing what to do with stress, or with dragging up memories from his childhood. Doesn't know why he's been hanging on so many memories though. He thinks too fucking much. Or maybe, somehow, he got some dissociative condition along with his other _cocktail_ of disorders, fucking hell, he doesn't know, almost doesn't want to know. Knowing will just make way for remembering.

All he knows is he can't live at home alone like this. But he can't very well move back home, either. His parents never did learn about his repulsive elementary and middle school years, so it'd be inexplicable at this point, he decides hopelessly. Hell, they never even realized their negligence towards him before he was in school. He doesn't resent them, they were working their asses off to support him and later Mikey, but he just wished someone would've ever noticed anything.

Maybe he wouldn't be looking for a fucking caretaker now if he'd been noticed as a child. But unfortunately, that's the best and the only way he's going to handle his situation until he can get his shit together enough to actually be able to go to therapy for his mess of a brain at some point. 

He feels selfish, looking for a carer when he's not old, or low functioning in disorder, or handicapped in any real way. He's just a stupid artist who can't hold his shit together enough to care for himself. _Just get yourself some goddamn therapy_, he scolds himself, but his body runs cold at the mere thought. He couldn't talk about what happened to him if he was the one being paid for it. Even thinking of it makes his mind hurt and drift and force the thoughts out. He just needs a part time carer, one who will check in on him a few times a week or something. _Like a babysitter for a grown-ass adult_, he thinks scornfully.

Rubbing his temples, Gerard states tiredly at the computer screen. _Finally_, a carer he could afford's advert comes up in the list, and he's the first who doesn't make unease pool in Gerard's weak stomach for whatever paranoid reasons.

_4 year nursing major/psych minor graduate (25, M) available for live in/part time caretaker position near NJ/NY state border. Experienced with children and "childlike" adult patients, enjoys working with them. Physically able to manage a small or medium built adult patient easily. Also experienced with severely anxious patients. Can cook and clean for patients, as well as provide other necessary assistance and aid. Heavily trained in emergency first aid. _

_For more information and to begin the hiring process, contact Frank Iero by phone at XXX-XXX-XXXX._

Reading the advertisement, Gerard feels assured by its friendly tone, and skill with his own sorts of issues, and finds himself dialing the number at the foot of it. Worth a shot, isn't it?

The phone beeps with a dial tone one, two, three times. _He's not going to pick up_, his mind mocks.

"Hello, you've reached Frank Iero, what can I do for you?" A soft but boyishly friendly voice chirps into the phone before the fourth ring can resound. It's sweet, cheerful, but has the familiar tone of _Jersey_. Oddly, that just makes it even more comforting to Gerard.

Taken by surprise, Gerard hopelessly grips his phone tight at the sound of Frank's youthful voice. "H-hi, Mr. Iero, I was inquiring about the part-time caretaker availability flyer…? I'm gonna need you to hear me out though, 'cause I know I'm probably not a good case to take…." He trails off dumbly, rambly and anxious as he realizes just how stupid his condition is. He can handle himself, he really, honestly can. And yet he doesn't hang up the phone.

"There are no bad cases, sir," Frank replies earnestly. "If you could just explain your or whoever I'll be caring for's case to me a little, we can begin the whole hiring process."

Gerard sighs heavily. "Well…. I think I'm kind of a risk to myself," He blurts, "N-not like, in a suicide way, just…. I'm guessing you're familiar with regression as like, a coping mechanism?" He's really trying helplessly here to sound like he knows what's wrong with him. He doesn't.

"Yes, I'm familiar, Mr…?" Pausing on the other end of the call, Frank waits for a name.

"W-Way, Gerard Way. And, um… I think I have some sort of involuntary thing around that going on. W-whenever I can't really… handle something, it's like my brain shuts down, you know?" Gerard laughs hopelessly, despite how much he hates whatever's been going on in his head. "And, like… I think I could handle myself, but I don't really know when it's going to happen, it's just like my brain needs to check out a lot. And I'm kinda worried I'll get hurt, since my brain seems determined to be a toddler's. Does that make any sense…?" He sighs, knowing it fucking doesn't.

He can hear the gentle smile in Frank's voice with the man's next words. "I understand, Mr. Way. And you're not in anyone's care at the moment, are you?" God, he sounds so damn _nice_, Gerard almost doesn't want to steal him from someone more deserving of care. 

"N-no, I'm not…. I don't want to bother my family, y-y'know?"

"I see…. Well, if you're worried about being a risk to yourself like you said, sir, I'm not in any jobs at the moment, so I can stop in to discuss your care and maybe we can evaluate your needs as soon as you'd like," Frank replies with nothing but warm kindness.

Drumming his nails absently on the kitchen table, Gerard breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, Mr. Iero. Would Saturday morning work for you? I've got a workload to get through tomorrow, but I really don't think I oughta wait past then. Kinda don't trust my brain, you know? I mean, I already don't much sometimes, but… yeah."

Frank's pause is heavy with concern at his words, that much is obvious. "Of course, Mr. Way. I hope you can get through all that work, and I can do… ten in the morning on Saturday?" He offers, clearly trying to be chipper and sweet despite his concerns. He's very… not subtle. _He's not comfortable with you_, something hurtful in his mind spits. 

"Y-yeah, sounds amazing, thank you, I'll see you then. Have a good day, Mr. Iero." 

"You too, sir." And with a far too cheerful beep, the call ends, Gerard's phone displaying that it was about a fifteen minute conversation. 

Sighing, Gerard slumps back in his chair. He hasn't had a phone call with anyone other than Mikey in forever, so that took… so much out of him. He's honestly surprised he could even do it. Maybe he was running off of how much he knows he needs someone to handle his bullshit, and it overrode the anxiety he knows he's got.

He fiddles around online for what feels like twenty minutes but turns out to be a good couple of hours, before turning his surprisingly mature mind to art, to more hours of sketch and ink and paint for side commissions, and a few hours of Photoshop and his grimy Wacom he's had since he was in college afterwards for his main job. He can afford to replace it with something better, the new Cintiq models from the company are supposed to be fucking phenomenal. But for some reason, he's just attached to his old one. It's a little gross and half broken, with miniscule dead pixels in places that make it a little hard to draw with sometimes. He's never even replaced the cable for the tablet, which by this point he has to use some unholy adapter with to get his Mac to even connect to the tablet, since it's so shiny new and has the fucking stupidest of ports, and the cable's outer soft plastic tubing is peeling apart and splitting where it bends frequently. But he won't get rid of the tablet, since it's lasted him longer than any phone or laptop he's owned. It's kind of like him. Broken and sort of dirty and probably wondering why it hasn't been trashed, but still alive, just fucked up. Heavily fucked up, but alive.

He passes out at five in the morning waiting for a piece for work to render, slumped back over his chair with tangled hair falling down behind him like a grungy dark curtain. The last thing on his drowsy mind is thoughts and hopes of Saturday going well, despite shitty thoughts that it won't.


	2. the patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank meets (and quite possibly over analyzes) the man who's going to be in his care for the foreseeable future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!!! it's miles!!!   
I wrote this at four in the morning so it's probably really bad in the spellcheck/grammar department, and I'm sorry about that, but I was way too excited to get it up.

Frank always dresses nicely to meet with patients or their family. It makes a good impression.

Which is exactly why he's buttoning up a white short-sleeve and knotting a black tie on a rainy Saturday morning in October. He's dressing up to meet a Mr. Gerard Way. The man's an artist, Frank learned, looking into him in the day between their talk on the phone and today. A damn beautiful one too.

An interesting thing Frank noticed, however, was that photos of Gerard don't exist much of anywhere. He seems elusive and reclusive, quiet and passive. That's alright, Frank's used to quiet and nervous. Anxious is rather the norm with his patients. He hopes he can help Gerard through it if he is, though. He really never does feel better than when he's helping someone through their struggles.

Humming to himself as he walks from his bedroom to the tiny apartment's kitchen, Frank stops at the counter to make up some toast and coffee, which he wastes no time savoring, since it's a quarter past nine, and he has to be at Gerard's at ten.

When he's standing at Gerard's apartment door twenty minutes till ten, though, after the messaged address proved closer to his home than anticipated, he feels a bit dumb, and wishes he'd slowed his morning. Now he's stuck in the hallway of a surprisingly nice complex, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly.

Nonetheless, he knocks, and waits.

After a few minutes, the door opens. A pair of guarded eyes, shadowed by dark hair are the first thing Frank catches, before the door swings open in full.

Gerard Way is a thin but soft sort of young adult, probably about twenty-three if Frank had to guess blindly, despite knowing for a fact the man is twenty-eight, three years his senior. He's only a bit taller than Frank himself, and his tired posture puts them equal. He's pale, pale as a corpse, but not gaunt like one. His features are rather rounded behind his curtains of messy, unwashed black hair, to be honest, soft and young, and he gives off an exhausted, unkempt energy. Or, lack of energy, he looks impossibly tired. Under that exhaustion, though, there's a soft sort of prettiness that Frank won't let himself acknowledge because any feelings for or toward Gerard could be… no good, to phrase it simply.

"Hi, Mr. Way, I'm the caretaker you contacted, Frank Iero, it's a pleasure to meet you in person," Frank introduces himself kindly, with his 'good impression' smile, and extends his hand.

Staring vacantly for a moment, Mr. Way seems out of his head. Frank just tries to give him a moment, since the man just seems to have had a long, rough night. 

"Ah- sorry, I… long night, early morning." Gerard seems to snap out of his tired trance to speak. He gives Frank's hand an apprehensive shake, his eyes still wary and guarded behind their sheen of sleep as they were when he opened the door. "C-come in, sorry if it's messy."

Frank steps inside after thanking his patient, and is immediately confronted by the mental description _artist's home_. The humble but decent sized apartment smells thickly of paint, and an easel on a filthy tarp, with two small wooden folding tables littered with open paint tubes on either side of it. Canvases in all sizes are stacked on each other and leaning against the wall, and the one on the easel is half painted with something black and blue and pink and quite artsy. Frank only manages a little light staring at the almost pretty mess of all the painting things before he's walking to the L-shaped couch that partially corners off the TV area from the art things in the living room with Gerard, taking a seat with his hands folded in his lap.

Gerard breathes in once he's seated himself as well, like he means to speak, but he doesn't. He just avoids eye contact, looking rather small and anxious.

"So, Mr. Way, my usual process for caring for someone new is to learn their routine, and then spend a day with them to get adjusted, work around anything that needs to be worked around. Just get into the groove of that person's day, evaluate, all that," Frank takes authority in the conversation, friendly and warm but professional.

Gerard gives a small nod. Nothing more, just a head-kept-down sort of nod. 

"So, if you're up to it mentally, I'm up to a quick overview of what you do in a day. If not, I don't mind waiting till you're ready," Frank assures with a smile. "We can just try and talk a little, that sound good?"

Another nod. "Mh-hm…." Gerard's voice comes up this time. It's soft and meek, matching with his inward facing posture. "'re you gonna takes c-care'a me…?" He looks up at Frank just barely through his long black bangs.

_Ah_, Frank thinks._ Gerard's regressing. He mentioned it happening when he's overwhelmed. Involuntary coping mechanism for anxiety or general distress, maybe? Best to treat him as a younger patient in this state, in case he has triggers that trying to force him out of regression would set off._ "That's right, kiddo. You can call me Frankie if you want to, some of the other kids I've taken care of have," He speaks to Gerard warmly, in his 'helping a kid come out of their shell' tone he's been using since he used to babysit as a teenager.

"You talks a-a _lot_…." Gerard states simply. "I-I Gee…." He introduces himself shyly, before pausing to warily eye Frank, hazel eyes large and skeptical as he asks, "um… a' you a grow'up?"

Frank flashes a warm _I mean no harm_ sort of smile. "I am, Gee, but I promise I'm a nice grown up. Anything you need, bud, just ask and I'll get it, 'kay?"

"T'ank you, F-frankie…." Gee slurs in a small voice, pulling at the hem of his shirt as his gaze flutters around the room. His wary, hard front is still up, but it's softened the smallest amount. Frank hopes it has at least. 

Wracking his brain for how to work around someone who he doesn't know the schedule of, Frank finally thinks of something after a bit of mental filing through old schedules and basic ones too. "Hey, how's some breakfast sound, hon?" He offers cheerily.

That gets him some major brownie points with Gerard, innocent interest brightening his guarded eyes, despite his evident want to ignore the question. "O-okay…." He manages a brief, very brief instance of eye contact, his eyes startlingly bright.

"Alrighty then, kiddo, lemme see what I can whip up," Frank complies cheerfully, making his way over to the kitchen.

Adult Gerard, he quickly learns, keeps jack shit in his house in terms of food. Maybe he doesn't go out shopping often…? His reclusive personality is leading Frank to wonder if he's caring for an agoraphobic as well as an anxiety-based regressor. It's not something bad, Frank's cared for people who chose not to go out before, and he certainly has nothing against it. Some hopeless rooting through the cupboards drags up some (thankfully very in date, Frank checks it carefully) packages of instant oatmeal. That's the closest thing to breakfast in the house. Frank notes that he needs to mention the food situation to Gerard once he's more… at ease. At ease enough that he isn't a nervous, untrusting child at least, at ease enough that he can slip into his own head.

As Frank gets to work boiling water for the packet breakfast, he glances over the kitchen island into the living room, he notices a shift in Gerard's mood. Wary and guarded has changed to anxious and helpless. His posture and barely there little shakes and trembles gives it away, and Frank's immediate guess is that he reacts badly to being left alone, not spoken to.

"Hey, Gee, kiddo, c'mere," Frank calls from the kitchen. Gerard glances up in a split second, eyes large and full of activity. He stares silently at Frank from the living room for a moment, before darting into the kitchen on unsteady, baby deer legs. The look on his face makes Frank almost expect the poor thing to dart right up to him, but Gerard just sinks down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, still just… watching. 

It's not unsettling, it's just… almost heart wrenching in a way. Whatever happened to Gerard to mess with his poor head like this. Whatever made him both dependent and untrusting, made his mind cope with struggle by locking down like this….

"F-frankie…!" Gerard's small, young voice pipes up, pulling Frank out of his thoughts. _Focus, Frank_, he scolds himself. "Water!" 

Frank immediately assumes Gerard means he _wants_ water, and turns toward the sink, only to catch sight of the _water_ on the stove nearly boiling over. "Oh!" He rushes to shut the burner off, sighing in relief as the water calms down in the pot. He turns to Gee with a relieved laugh. "_Thank you_, Gee, oh my god, I would've missed that," He chuckles, walking over to ruffle Gerard's messy hair, before returning to the kitchen counter to finish up making his breakfast. Breakfast at eleven in the morning. What a life.

Meals are no challenge, Frank learns, aside from having to feed Gerard, since he's really at a pretty dependent mental age in a few regards still. Though, he seems less dependent and more just like he enjoys and craves the attention of being fed and coddled and such. And he's proven to be a bit clumsy of movement on his own (reminding Frank of Gerard's worries over the phone about being an unintentional danger to himself), so really, it's just niceness and logical thinking to baby him a little extra.

A little bit after noon, Gerard seems to be coming back into his full mind, with the fact that he seems to be more at ease, now that his initial strong anxieties around Frank have made themselves scarce, _quite apparent_. His anxiety is nulled, sure, but he seems a bit embarrassed, as if his tendencies have inconvenienced Frank. Of course, they haven't, they're what Frank's being _paid_ to help with, so Frank just tries to reassure him that _hey_, it's alright. It does work at least a little, surprisingly, making Frank bank a bit more confidence in his consolation skills. 

The timing of Gerard being in his full mind is appropriate though, since Frank's had the food question bouncing in his head like a sort of conversation topic screensaver since breakfast. "Hey, I noticed you were pretty low on food, do you want to go to the store with me, or are you gonna be alright just waiting here? I'd hate to leave and have something trigger your anxiety again-"

"I-I'll be fine, thank you, Frank, I'm a lot less anxiety prone at home, believe it or not," Gerard accidentally cuts him off a bit, and flashes an apologetic smile at doing so. "I don't get out hardly at all, I usually try and do that whole online delivery thing with whatever I need, since it's less of an overload on me, b-but if you wanna go to the store, please do, hold on-" He gets up from the table to grab his wallet from the kitchen counter, and presses it into Frank's hands.

Frank smiles gratefully at him at the offer. "Thank you. I shouldn't be more than twenty, thirty minutes? Call if you need anything, 'kay? Like, literally, anything." Going and getting his coat from the front entryway, Frank slips Gerard's wallet into one of the pockets, before heading out the door with a "I'll be back soon!"

Meandering through aisles of the nearest grocery store sets his mind turning on Gerard's condition a five minute drive later. He's in no place to diagnose the man, who he's pretty sure hasn't got diagnosed with anything by anyone, but he knows his stuff to a certain level, so his mind can't help but wander, going and going and going….

He's hit mentally with a big fucking zoned-out _oh_ when he's about halfway through his shopping. 

Gerard doesn't have regress because of anxiety, he's got PTSD, that explains it so much more logically. It seems to be a dissociative form of it, since he doesn't seem aware of why he regresses, chalking the regression up to anxiety like Frank did. Whatever happened to him, his brain wants to lock out. But it can't lock out everything, so what it can't block out, it just reverts backwards to avoid and repress.

Whatever happened to Gerard isn't his fucking business, he reminds himself, though. If he learns more, he learns more, and if he doesn't, then he just doesn't. One thing's for certain, though, if Gerard can improve how he functions enough to be (somewhat) comfortably able to, Frank's going to encourage therapy. He's a nurse and someone good with kids before he's a shrink, so it's not his place to go pretending he's Gerard's. But as soon as it's possible without just making things worse for Gerard's obviously fragile state, he'll suggest it. 

His sympathy for Gerard goes up something like a thousandfold with this heavy hitting realization, and he wishes he could do anything harmlessly nice for him, or at least for the poor little lonely child version of him.

And at that moment, as if the universe heard what he needed, his peripheral vision catches a bit of color on an endcap as he's pressing down an aisle. He pauses to give it a little once over, and God, it's just the sort of thing he was looking for to try and give to child Gerard, to win him over or at least do something nice for him. Coloring books. It's cheap, and a little silly, but he hopes he'll like it as he slips a twenty-four box of crayons and a friendly looking outer space coloring book in with his shopping. A peace offering.

He keeps it separate from everything else when he's bringing the week's worth of things he bought up to Gerard's apartment. His hands are so full from carrying everything on one go, he has to knock with his foot.

There's a pause, like Gerard's looking out the peephole to see who's there, before he's opening the door in an almost rushed way, seeming relieved Frank is back.

"Hey, did something happen?" Frank asks as he carries everything to the kitchen counter, aside from Gerard's present, he hides that in the folds of his coat, and folds his coat over a kitchen chair, before going to unload the shopping.

Gerard sighs, relieved, and shakes his head. "No, you just took a bit longer than you said you would, I overreacted... sorry…." His expression turns downcast and Frank slips away from the task at hand to comfort him.

"It's alright, don't be sorry. I'm really sorry I took longer, I kind of got to thinking in the store, and I guess it slowed me down," He explains to a clearly rattled Gerard. It's tragically ironic that an agoraphobic like Gerard also can't seem to stand being on his own sometimes, but Frank's known that to be a symptom of the condition.

Rubbing at the back of his neck and glancing down, Gerard manages a weak smile. "Th-that's okay. Thank you for getting everything, I really appreciate that."

"No problem. You gotta eat, right?" Frank restores his usual firmly bright tone that he uses when caring for someone. He slips Gerard's wallet out of his coat, and holds it up, before setting it on the counter. "Here's this back, by the way, wanted to give it to you so it wouldn't end up in my coat forever."

Gerard seems to brighten a little at that, actually laughing a bit. "Yeah, that'd be really bad if you took it home with you on your off days or something," He half jokes, since he knows Frank wouldn't mean to steal from him.

"You really think I'd do that? Hush, you," Frank scolds lightly, giving Gerard's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before returning to unloading the shopping into the sparse fridge and cabinets.

"You hush," Gerard retorts under his breath, and Frank's heart clenches. This man is the single most endearing person he's ever cared for. Hell, maybe the most endearing person he's ever met. "I'm gonna try and work, if that's okay?"

Frank glances up from Tetris-ing stacked cans into a slightly too cramped kitchen cupboard. "That's more than okay, you don't need permission for that." He smiles.

There's something a little bit… peaceful, almost, about the drum of the rain on the windows and the clicks of Gerard's keyboard as ambience as Frank tunes to small sounds while he works. 

They're domestic, in a way, the sounds are. Pleasant.


	3. small, weak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to update this soonerrrrr but then I was busyyyy 
> 
> WARNING in this chapter for an ambiguous and short but pretty unsavory nightmare sequence.

One of the things Frank notices over his first time at Gerard's home is how _quiet_ it is. Gerard is practically mute most of the time, silently working on art and such on his laptop and proving unknowingly to Frank that his life has no schedule whatsoever.

Not that Frank has anything against a loosely planned life, it's just an odd thing to see in a patient. Usually he's caring for folks whose families hired him. Those families have usually gotten used to micromanaging and fine tuning the patient's life to help them around their challenges, and they spend ages explaining to Frank what that entails. It's odd to come in and have a patient capable of explaining his own regimen that's so _quiet_ too. Usually they're quick to explain so Frank can be all clinical and do his job. Frank isn't used to being left with not much to do. He and Gerard had worked out all the payment details relating to part time care, and then that was really that. Maybe a touch awkward, but Gerard at work is too mesmerizing a sight to miss, for some queer reason.

His silence and all his thoughts are drifting, drifting, till they're suddenly interrupted by Gerard's small voice, which Gerard knows is meek even when fully aged. "I'm gonna go take a shower, I'll be out in twenty," He says softly, glancing at Frank for a reply.

"Okay, call if you need anything or any help, I'll try to leave you be." Frank answers. Frank, Gerard has noticed, is level and calm in everything, beautifully so. His ease is like a warm blanket around his shoulders. It doesn't help entirely with the tarry mess sticking together his void-black and nearly surfacing bad thoughts, but it makes him feel reassured. Shutting his laptop and slipping from his chair, Gerard slinks from the kitchen. He tries not to look too lowly and small, too pitiable. He knows he does, though.

The bathroom in Gerard's apartment is decently sized, and a bit dark. Rather like the rest of his home. It's somehow cold and comforting all at once, he thinks as he turns on the bath faucet. His apartment is cold in how it's like a bit of a prison, and comforting in how it's always the same. Always as it always is.

Eyes dead on the windowless wall, Gerard tunes into the rain and thunder rumbling outside the building as he pulls his sweater over his head. In the same routine he always follows, he unbuttons his shirt and slips it off, and finally takes off his jeans and ratty boxers, not taking a single look at his body the whole time. He never looks at himself bared, that's been a long, long running routine that he maintains for reasons he doesn't dwell on.

Sinking into the bath once it's full and bubbling with added soap, Gerard sighs, the noise long and exhausted. He never sleeps right, so the urge to slip under into a good night pulls at his mind and body as he sinks into the water and the lull of sleep, head lolling over the edge of the tub.

Gerard sleeps blankly for some mess of nebulous, foggy time, before his mind his something deep and rocky and black. It conjures up dreams- 

no, nightmares, of hands grabbing him, their nails too long and scratching at his too small body, pushing and shoving. The hands take fistfuls of his hair, and pull so that he screams and thrashes and sobs. The hands _touch_, they touch in some awful way, and then Gerard's drowning in a flash, then he's alive and gagging water through shrieking sobs and he's wholly awake and back in his full body as he sits bolt upright in the tub, _hands on his shoulders_ suddenly.

"Gerard! Gerard, what's going on?!" Frank's voice meets his ears and he's _small_, wailing helplessly and wordlessly back. "Are you hurt?" 

Gerard finds he can't speak, the words won't come out, like he's a _child_, so he just yells out a thick, tarry sob that pulls his vocal chords every which way. Broken, stuttered whines rip from his aching throat as water still dribbles down his chin from his brief almost drowning. 

"Hey, shh, Gee, it's okay…." Frank murmurs, and Gerard wants to scream that it's not, but his stupidly resistant and childlike mind just forces more cries, and a few tiny, whimpered "no"s. "Come on, let's get you out of the bath, it's all okay, you had a nightmare, everything is alright now…."

_It's not okay_, a voice in Gerard's head that can't escape cries, and he tugs suddenly, compulsively forcing away from Frank's hands on his cold, bare skin with a weak sob. His need to escape touch stays regardless of how his mind is operating, and he just needs to get _away_. But he's a scared little freakin' kid, and he can't stop crying, so all he can do is press in on himself in the cold water and bawl. The water drains around him as he cries his aching, broken little heart out, has an absolute _fit_. A towel drapes around his shoulders when the water is all gone, and he's still crying, though it's all dried out and small by this point. 

"It's alright, I promise…. You're safe, Gee," Frank assures softly from where he's knelt beside the tub. 

Raising his head to meet his eyes, Gerard wipes at his face with one loose fist. "M'sorry… din' mean to, I s-sowwy…." He slurs in that small, childish voice that makes Frank just wish he could make it all better, wish he could understand and help.

"I know, hush, it's alright, don't be sorry, you didn't do anything wrong, honey." Frank smiles, the adoring and kind, protective smile that sort of fills those uneasy with at least a little comfort. Gerard watches him with large, wary eyes, still rather soppy with tears as he pulls his towel around his cold, dripping body and forces himself to stand up on shaky legs. "Do you think you can get yourself dressed, or do you need help?"

Gerard steps over the edge of the tub, shaking his head vaguely as he scans the room with soft, darting eyes for wherever he left his clothes, his towel held tight over the soft and weak form of his little body. His little body that he knows isn't little at all, but it always feels that way. _Helpless_. Helpless as a whiny little _pathetic_ child, the bratty sniveling shit he never grew out of being. His face tenses up and his eyes flutter closed for a second as he tries to empty his messy head, before gathering up his clothes from the counter to hurriedly dress, to avoid the pair of watching eyes he feels on him despite Frank not watching, definitely not watching. They don't feel like Frank's sort of gaze, they're the gaze he's felt on him every time he's bared since what was done to him, regardless of who he's around or not around. Still rattled down to his bones, Gerard doesn't speak a word to Frank, not till they're out in the kitchen, he's seated at the table, and he's still looking so dripping wet and miserably hopelessly broken.

"'m so- s-sowwy, I didn'... didn' mean ta'...." He slurs, eyes big and helpless and _scared_. For something the poor thing didn't even mean to do…. It hurts Frank to see him like this. Well, all his patients invoke that sort of achy sympathy in him, but it just makes his heart feel like someone poured ice water on it and left it in the snow to ache and freeze and _hurt_ to see _Gerard_ like this. He seems like such a brightly wonderful person, just so broken up inside.

Brows arching worriedly, Frank sits down at the kitchen table across from his childlike patient. "Hey, Gee, kiddo, it's all okay now, you're okay…." He soothes, watching Gerard shake and sniffle quietly, tears still thick at the corners of his big eyes. "Nothing's gonna hurt you…."

He watches Gerard squeeze his upper arms in slender hands and shut his eyes tight, watches him shake his head, dark hair falling around his face like a rumpled curtain. He doesn't say a word though, leaving Frank to have to come up with something on the spot, some way to make his messy mind focus on something softer. "Hey, sweetheart…? It's getting late, how about I make us something to eat, m'kay?" He offers, hoping to turn Gerard's thoughts away from whatever happened in his nightmare.

"O-okay…." Gerard stammers back, still unsure and very, very guarded as he hugs himself with tight, tense arms. He seems to loosen just a little at how genuine Frank tries to sound.

Smiling reassuringly, Frank tries to be as gentle with the young-minded thing in front of him. "Sounds good, d'you wanna watch TV while I make dinner?" He offers, trying to act calm and friendly. Babysitter mode, that's what his friends in high school used to call it when he'd be good with little kids.

Gerard just shakes his head at the suggestion, though his walls are coming down a bit, and he almost seems a little younger. "Uh-uh, Fwankie… wa-wanna draw, or- or… I-I dunno…. Wanna sleep, b-bu' it's too sc-scary…." His voice trembles heavily as his brain starts trying to pick at nightmares again.

"Hey, kiddo, it's okay now, I promise...." Frank assured, combing his mind for something that would help Gerard keep his mind on anything else. "Oh, um, if you wanna draw to think about somethin' else, I might just have a bit of a present…?" He softens somehow further to help Gerard in his feeble state, and feels relief at how his words seem to work through the tears building up in the corners of his large eyes.

Pushing at the corners of his eyes with loose fists, Gerard wipes away what tears won't dissipate from his eyes. "A pre-resent…?" He stammers innocently, and Frank's heart completely melts.

"That's right, Gee, a present!" Frank says softly but brightly as he goes to retrieve Gerard's gift from where it's hiding in his folded up coat, hiding it behind his back. "I saw it when I was shopping earlier, and thought you might really like it, so…" He pauses to set the coloring book and crayons on the kitchen table in front of Gerard.

There's a brief pause as Gerard registers the gift with baffled, large eyes, before his face cracks into a wild grin, and then twists on top of that with a storm of overwhelmed tears. Fastest slew of emotions Frank has witnessed in quite a while. "Fr-fra-frankie- th-a-ank you- I-I-" Gerard stammers through his fit of tears, a brokenly elated smile on his childishly sweet face. His face scrunches up as he nonverbally slurs out syllables, not sure what he's trying to get out through his tears and his smile. Finally, he seems to just give up, and he just grins broadly at Frank, tears still rolling down his pink and red, blotchy cheeks.

"D'you like it, kiddo?" Frank asks, despite being able to tell the answer right away.

Gerard's shaky, barely formed "u-uh-huh!" is just the softest, gentlest bit of extra proof, though. And Frank's odd trait of motherliness is turned up to high at the sight. God, he wants to protect this patient, more than anything. And he's going to, god dammit. He watches calmly over Gerard until the other is in his own little world of crayon work, before returning to the task of dinner.

The sight of Gerard coloring away is a peaceful one to Frank, but the depth of his part time headspace, in combination with his hatred of the world outside his dark apartment makes Frank think maybe Gerard and Gerard's mental conditions would benefit from a full time carer, more so than the man thinks himself. This is the point of a trial first day, to figure out a patient or potential patient's routine and needs. He might pop the suggestion if Gerard's a little more "himself" by the time their meal is ready. 

Frank ponders his wording for the suggestion as he slaves over the stove, and before he knows it, he's setting down two heavy plates of food at the kitchen table. By this point, Gerard's swapped tasks from intent coloring to blank, dead staring that's either exhaustion of dissociation, and he barely shifts when Frank sets his plate down. 

"Hey, Gee…? Dinner's ready, you okay…?" Frank calls out softly into the void of Gerard's tiredly unhearing ears.

Gerard seems to jump a little, head jerking like something out of a stop motion. His gaze slowly trails up from its place on the table to meet Frank's eyes. "Hmn…? O-oh, sorry, I...I'm just tired, sorry…." He sighs pitifully, soft eyes tired and half lidded, circled by heavy purple and red toned shadows that beg for sleep.

Smiling faintly, Frank seats himself across from him at the table. "You're okay, don't be sorry. Now eat up, please?" He puts a hopeful tone to his voice that has Gerard progressing from fidgeting loosely with his utensils to pressing a forkful of food past his chapped lips. "Oh, and I wanted to ask something about your care."

Gerard mumbles out an inquisitive little noise in reply, cocking his head slightly to one side. 

"Since you seem- f-from my evaluations today- to need help with any outside world tasks, and the semi-spontaneous nature of your regressive side definitely- definitely seems like it could lead to you getting injured, ah…. I was thinking, maybe, it would be a good idea for you to consider letting me take on a full time care position." The words spew from Frank's lips, eager to get out, if a mess in how they do. "I'd feel it were on me if you got hurt or something on a day I wasn't doing care when I could've been if we'd scheduled it, you know?"

Gerard's brain registers the thought in a slow, cluttered way, before the concept pings into his head like the end of the last second on an egg timer as the alarm goes off. "Oh! Oh, um, I-I appreciate your concerns, Frank, that's a very, kind, ah… evaluation…. I'll need to pay you more of course, more days, a-and more per day, if you're going to be an all day sort of person, right?" He smiles nervously, pressing bites of food past his pale lips between words to hide the way his lips twitch and quiver subtly.

A smile falling over his lips as he runs his fork through the food heaping his own plate, Frank lets his shoulders shrug neutrally. "You're already paying me way more than I'd think to ask for, Gerard, so that won't be necessary. Thank you, though, I appreciate it."

Going rather pink across the apples of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, Gerard manages a small smile. "The first opportunity I get to give you a raise, I will, Mr. Iero, I hope you know," He replies politely, warm eyes guarded and almost a little foggy, heavy with bad sleep.

"I'm sure I've said this already, but please, Frank. I feel like my dad when people 'Mr. Iero' me," Frank laughs lightly. "'sides, I wouldn't say a caregiver is quite so above you in most situations that he deserves respect like that, you know?" He adds modestly with a little boyish smile.

Not meeting Frank's eyes, Gerard returns the other's earlier neutral shrug. "I'd say you're definitely deserving of respect, w-with all you're doing for me…." He murmurs, softly peering at Frank from behind his dark hair. "Thank you."

"It's only the first day, don't go thanking me for help I haven't given yet," Frank jokes. The laugh that bubbles out of Gerard's crooked lips in reply makes his stomach flutter shyly, and a copycat laugh fall from his own lips.

He knows it'll be hard, messy, rather heart wrenching work already, just from what a case Gerard seems to be, in terms of his ambiguous past and the way his mind turns and processes. But something in him doesn't seem worried. Gerard may be messy in a few ways he's already observed, but he's a kind heart, he honestly is. One that deserves care, even where Frank knows it's not his business to fix it. He won't be doing any fixing, no out of place prying, he tells himself. He's just a less tattered mind to help Gerard maybe get by, he hopes.


	4. long, long nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY FUCKING GOD HE'S FUCKING UPDATING-  
short chapter, but like, the last time i updated this fic mcr wasn't a band so i needed to get something out asap since ive has a half finished chapter pissing around in my google drive since october.  
thank you everyone for your nice comments too! i'm glad to see everyone loves baby g, he deserves it :))

Ten days into caring for Gerard Way, Frank is learning his little habits, or trying to at least.

Gerard picks at his skin when he's nervous, Gerard bites his nails when he's nervous, Gerard stress eats. Gerard does these things a lot. None of these habits are things Frank hasn't seen before, but he decides once he starts watching over them, that if he can help Gerard to healthily get around said habits, he will. He really, honestly hopes he can.

Another thing Frank has learned of his patient is a long, long list of his child heart's little traits. He can guess that the regressed form of Gerard's mind takes a lot of personality cues from how he actually was as a little kid, and if that is the case, God,  _ this poor kid _ . Gerard, he notices, is a rather passive, shy child. Doesn't speak up a lot, and he  _ never _ has fits. If the poor thing doesn't want to do something, he'll go along with it with hardly any arguing, just with tears welling up in his eyes, and Frank often has to backtrack and say  _ hey no sweetheart it's okay you don't have to do that _ .

Another thing he notes is Gerard's avoidance of sleep. He'll keep himself awake till he passes out without his own decision in the matter. And honestly Frank can hardly blame him, if him waking up from nightmares like he did in the bath is anything normal for him. He can get Gerard to sleep willingly when he's regressing, but only about 50% of the time, and he can never get him to his room. Voice high and shrill and pleading desperately that he doesn't  _ need _ to go to bed, it's the only thing he honest to god fights. The first time he'd had to care for a regressed Gerard at bedtime, Frank had encouragingly suggested to the poor sweetheart that he get in his pajamas so he could get all tucked in and ready for bed, only to be surprised by him growing shaky and panicky, and having to hold him and calm him down with soft words, assure him that he didn't have to be all alone if he didn't want to.

The best way Frank has figured out for getting sleep from the little one, after a  _ week _ of late nights, tears, and trial and error, is to curl up out on the sectional in the living room with Gerard, and to let the poor thing overwrite his cluttered mind with a bit of focus, finding solace in the warmth and comfort of cartoons.

And that is exactly what they're doing tonight. While it's rainy and it's bitter and it's cold outside, through the night, Frank has been curled up on the sofa, Gerard's head resting in his lap as he sleeps peacefully, the TV turned to a dull hum as some cheerfully colored cartoon plays onscreen. Frank doesn't pay too much attention to what he puts on, as long as it's okay for a kid, since Gerard mostly needs it as background noise to sleep when he's in this headspace. Something soft, with gentle, calming music, simple colors to soothe his aching mind.

With tired, half awake eyes, Frank manages a small glance down at Gerard, sleeping soundly where he lies. His features are soft with sleep, no worry in them, and his long, dark mess of hair falls around his pale face delicately. One slender, tightly balled hand is curled up by his face, his mouth open in a small, cute 'o' as a strand of drool runs down from one corner of it. Frank smiles fondly as Gerard mumbles in his sleep, curling inwards and letting his thumb slip loosely between his lips. 

He lets a hand slip down to card through Gerard's tangled hair, and Gerard tenses initially, whimpering in his sleep. The touch seems to have put his guard up, so Frank takes his hand back. The removal of contact makes immediate peace with Gerard's sleeping form, thank God. 

"Sorry, kiddo…." Frank murmurs. He wishes he knew how to help Gerard's fitful sleep. Watching him toss and turn and wake up in tears makes Frank's heart hurt. He wants to make things better, but he isn't sure how. And he knows it isn't necessarily his place to, he's not a damn shrink, but he wishes he could just do a little more….

A few little worries are swimming in his head as he drifts off to sleep, waiting to be reeled in as he dreams.

Frank awakens to pulling on his sleeve, a warm body leaning against him. Jolting upright on the couch, he turns his head to see a wide eyed Gerard clinging to him. "H-hey, sweetheart, what's wrong…?" He asks softly, voice heavy in his throat and hard to round into words, swallowing through the thick of sleep to get his vocal chords going again. 

Shaking his head, Gerard presses closer to him, curled up and small on the sectional beside him. He presses his forehead into the crook of Frank's neck, and Frank feels the warmth of tears soak into his shirt collar, damp against his neck, accompanied by Gerard's soft sniffles. "Hey, it's gonna be okay, you just had a bad dream, honey, it's all gonna be okay…." He assures softly. 

He's trying his best, he really is. He hopes it's even halfway enough.

Over the next few days, he's growing less and less confident in how good his best is, when every night he has to soothe a sobbing Gerard from nightmares. Whatever haunts his dreams is an instant trigger whenever it happens to jerk him awake. Frank knows damn well a hug isn't what cures horrible, long standing trauma like Gerard's, but he wishes it was. Call him sensitive or maternal or just empathetic, but he's desperate to help.

One night, right before Halloween, Gerard wakes from a particularly awful nightmare, shaking and sobbing, digging his nails into his skin as he tries to ground himself to his own body. He's dreamt of hands that night, he remembers, hands too terrifyingly big crawling his skin, pulling his clothes. He dreamt of ink in his skin that wouldn't come away, dirt spreading like a  _ plague _ that he tried to scrub away in a tub that felt like an ocean. He'd felt so small in the tub, slipping under and clinging to childhood bath toys three times his size to stay afloat as the blackness ate at his skin, seaweed that felt like terry cloth and  _ hands _ pulling him into the abyss of the tub, no matter how much his body in the dream screamed  _ mom, mama, please, please help me mama _ . 

He can't get the dream out of his head when he wakes up that night, can't stop feeling hands on him like phantoms, cold and harsh and less than human, but sometimes all  _ too _ human, rough, violent hands that are too damn warm, and he bawls into Frank's chest for what feels like hours that night, cries so hard he's coughing, these thick, heavy, sobbing coughs that nearly make vomit rise up his throat. He hopes feebly that he won't ever get sick at the thought of throwing up. Frank shouldn't have to deal with that on top of everything else Gerard knows he makes into a hassle. He makes up his mind, childishly, to not  _ ever _ get sick.

The night is blurry, hazy, blanked out of his mind in places where he didn't want to think, and it only clears up again when he's finally starting to fall out of his panicking, crying fit, and into the comfort of a warm body. Frank's warm body, sure and firm and comforting. It's like a security blanket, and he feels so protected, something he rarely feels. Frank's body feels like the home he doesn't think he's ever had, soft and loving and always  _ there _ . His body is like solace when Gerard can bear to be touched, like being saved from everything wrong and painful swimming in his head, clogging up his brain.

And when he falls asleep again, after fighting his own eyelids valiantly for what felt like  _ hours _ , his nightmares are gone, if only for a short time. If only for the two hours till morning. But they're  _ gone _ .

They go away on their own sometimes, it's not like he relives his childhood via cryptic dreams every night. They'll come back.

But, naive as it absolutely is, as stupid and childish as he  _ knows _ he comes off, he likes to think Frank is helping. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are much appreciated! xoxo  
and i've got a tumblr jus for fics now, it's @/ourangeloftrash, please come send me prompts and asks about my fics/new ideas to motivate me to write!!!


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